


some kind of nature

by kokirane (lovelyspiral)



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-14 00:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13582344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyspiral/pseuds/kokirane
Summary: The novice tattoo artist next door clearly wears waterproof eyeliner and a smile brighter than the sun, but why he keeps coming to Fikira's Flowers is a bit of a mystery.





	1. purple orchids

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iruusu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iruusu/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Night Blooms](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11446743) by [iruusu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iruusu/pseuds/iruusu). 



Ryo signs for the new shipment of orchids, and goes back to Netflix.

_Devilman_ ’s theme blasts through the small shop, muted only by the rattling of the shaky ceiling fan. Fikira’s Flowers is tucked in a strip of bigger, bolder shops, now including a new tattoo parlor with a neon red sign simply reading _TATTOOS._ Uncreative, but still drawing in more customers than Fikira’s.

Ryo can’t wrap his head around it: he thought people _liked_ flowers, or at least what they symbolize. They certainly like love: the parlor opened only a week ago, and between advertisements, Ryo has seen more than enough couples come out with matching wrap on their bodies.

Couple tattoos may be forever, but couples are not, Ryo supposes. Love has more in common with flowers: ephemeral, and stamped with an expiration date. At the very least, Fikira’s Flowers can’t charge more than _TATTOOS_ does. And if he’s going to reach, wouldn’t a partner be positively inspired to buy their darling a bouquet after getting matching tattoos?

Maybe in a movie or a drama -- the reality is nobody comes to Fikira’s, and Ryo has more than enough time to binge anime and grade papers. His summer students are adorable in the way a child learning how to pronounce long words for the first time is, but his kids are well into college, so he has decidedly less patience for the garbage they spew in their essays.

Recently, the most interesting thing in his life has been one of the novice tattoo artists. He’s tall, with a mop of messily styled black hair, and his skin is a pleasing tan. Ryo doesn’t see him tattoo many customers, but he _is_ always hovering, jotting things down in a notepad. Alone, he draws and draws and draws, and inks onto synthetic skin. If he does well, he gets the biggest smile on his face and runs to the back, presumably to show the others. If he doesn’t -- this is what keeps Ryo watching -- big, fat tears roll down his face, but he keeps working through it.

Ryo names the boy Crybaby. Today, Crybaby isn’t there, so Ryo occupies himself with Tetris during his ad breaks.

He’s halfway through _Devilman_ when the chimes on the door jingle. He doesn’t register it first -- he’s only had two customers in the past couple days -- but when he hears someone clear their throat politely, he looks up.

“Oh,” Ryo says, just as the customer also says, “Oh,” flushing darkly.

It’s Crybaby, and up close, he looks younger, like he’s around Ryo’s age. His eyes are a stunningly warm hazel ringed with thick winged liner -- waterproof, definitely waterproof -- and he’s wearing all black, hands stuffed in his pockets as he shifts nervously -- Ryo’s been staring for too long, and keeps staring because he’s never seen someone so -- so --

“I’m so sorry,” Crybaby says. His voice is deeper than Ryo had assumed. “I can come back.”

“You’re fine.” Belatedly, Ryo remembers to pause his episode. “What can I help you with today?”

“Um.” the guy takes out a small piece of paper. “An orchid. A purple one.”

“Lucky you,” Ryo says. “We just got new ones. Orchids are right there, and you can call me if you need help.”

“Oh, cool,” Crybaby smiles, and _wow,_ it’s a little blinding for this time in the morning. “I can just go pick one?”

“Yeah.”

Crybaby has a bounce in his step; Ryo puts his episode back on, but his gaze tracks Crybaby as he peers at each and every flower.

If Ryo listens closely enough, he seems to be _complimenting_ them, fingers ghosting playfully over petals. Ryo’s heart may or may not be thawing, just a little bit.

Still, he has to ask: “Do you know what an orchid looks like?”

Crybaby jumps (he had just been calling a tiny rose a fighter; it _can_ be as tall as the others) and rubs his head sheepishly. “I think so.”

Ryo sighs and comes up next to him, and fuck, he only reaches Crybaby’s shoulder. Crybaby actually _bends_ to come to his level and look at the flowers with him.

Ryo is definitely sweating a little bit, but he’s not going to admit that. If Jenny were here, she would have a field day. “Here. This is an orchid.”

“It’s pretty,” Crybaby hums. “Thanks!”

“They are quite pretty,” Ryo agrees. “One of my favorites.”

They are _not._ What is happening with him today?

“Then I’ll buy you one next time,” Crybaby says, blissfully unaware of Ryo almost choking on his spit.

“That would be unproductive,” Ryo replies. “I’m already surrounded by flowers.”

“That’s nice, though.” Crybaby’s jeans are ten times tighter than they should be, and his hand has gotten stuck as he tries to extricate his wallet. “The parlor isn’t super decorated.”

Ryo hums in sympathy. With a flourish, Crybaby pays for the single orchid, and peers at his nametag. “Well, bye, Ryo. I’ll see you around!”

With a smile and a jingle of the door, Crybaby is gone. Ryo watches him: Crybaby puts the orchid on the tattoo parlor’s counter, looks at him through the window, and winks.

It’s Ryo’s turn to turn red, and that’s the moment Jenny walks in, the usual two hours late for her shift.

“Hey, kiddo,” she says, “You sunburnt or something?”

“Yes.” Ryo latches onto the excuse, but when Jenny bursts into laughter, he realizes she’s seen _everything._

“He’s cute,” she says knowingly, perching next to him. “Kinda like the guy in _Devilman_ , right? All tall, dark, and handsome.”

“He cries a lot,” Ryo points out.

“What’s wrong with crying?” Jenny says. “He’s a sensitive guy -- wait, you’re right, he won’t be able to handle you.”

Ryo purses his lips. He’s no stranger to his students leaving him shit reviews, but for some reason, Jenny’s comment doesn’t sit right with him.

Crybaby is -- bright, for lack of a better word. And there’s something there that makes Ryo’s cheeks burn: he must have seen Ryo watching him at some point, and he had flipped the tables on him by looking right back. He hadn’t been too shy to come over and talk to Ryo, or even the _flowers._

He’s not like anyone that Ryo’s ever met.

He can’t stop himself from glancing over. Crybaby is in a seemingly animated discussion with one of the girls, possibly a secretary. She’s cute, Ryo grudgingly admits, with short wavy brown hair and big green eyes.

She puts a hand on Crybaby’s shoulder, and then there’s three: her, Crybaby, and the orchid resting between them on the counter.

Ryo supposes he should finish his episode, and rewinds.


	2. yellow gladolias

Ryo’s not proud of this, but -- he sleeps only three hours before his shift, and it’s all because of Crybaby. 

When Crybaby had been a purely metaphysical boy next door, it had been  _ fine.  _ But now he’s bought something, and said he would see Ryo around -- Ryo turns the pieces of their conversation over and over, trying to account for variables like sunlight coming through the windows -- were Crybaby’s eyes really that color? What if they were? What had his tone been, exactly? What if he wasn’t going to come back? 

Why exactly does he care so much?

Ryo can’t even look over at  _ TATTOOS  _ anymore, and so he finds himself rewatching  _ Elfen Lied  _ sporadically. The sound of the door chimes is embedded in his mind, and anything close to it has him jumping.

Thank the stars that Jenny’s on a smoke break and can’t see him like this. He texts her to bring him a coffee -- he could lock up shop and go himself, but knowing fate, once he’s gone, someone will stop by at Fikira’s. As it is, his head is beginning to tip into his palm. 

When he’s halfway into the world of dreams, the door swings open. 

“Jenny?” He murmurs, but the mess of unkempt hair is the color of night instead of vivid sunset. Ryo sits up, body prickling, and becomes acutely aware of the drool on his hand. “Hello again.”

“Hello again!” Crybaby beams. “I’m here for sunflowers.”

Fitting, Ryo thinks. “And how is the orchid?”

“A big hit.” Crybaby’s smile turns shy. “So I’m back for more decorations.”

“Why not plastic then?” Ryo points to a corner of the shop. “It won’t die.”

Belatedly, Ryo realizes  _ but then he won’t come back -- _

“I like the real thing.” Crybaby has dimples, and the way he’s looking at Ryo -- peeking through dark eyelashes, one side of his lips hitched higher than the other -- feels like  _ something.  _

“Oh,” Ryo manages. “Well, go choose the flower your heart desires.” 

Crybaby dips into a mock bow. “Thank you for your blessing, good sir.”

Ryo waves him off, stifling a yawn with his free hand. He can’t help but watch yet again: Crybaby doesn’t talk to the flowers this time, just rubs his chin as he scrutinizes the stalks of yellow and green. It’s a very good chin. Ryo wouldn’t mind if it were to rest on his shoulder. 

Crybaby picks the tallest one and comes to the counter. “Hey, am I the only customer?”

“That’s a little presumptuous,” Ryo says dryly. “You’ve only been here once.”

As expected, red spots blossom on tan cheeks. “No, I meant -- maybe you could decorate the outside? So people see it?” 

“We have glass windows, and a sign,” Ryo says. “It’s quite obvious what we are.” 

“Just a thought,” Crybaby shrugs, and Ryo could swallow his own tongue. He wants to apologize, of all things, anything to fix Crybaby’s infernal drooping shoulders. 

He does it in his own way. Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep. “I could make you an arrangement, if you wish.” 

“An arrangement?” Crybaby looks intrigued. 

“So you don’t have to just get singular flowers.” 

“Can I tell you my plan?” Crybaby says suddenly, pointing at Jenny’s stool. “Can I sit there?”

“If you tell me your name,” Ryo says, which is the worst idea in the history of forever, because there’s no way he’ll sleep ever again if he has a name to put to the face. 

Crybaby sits, and says, “I’m Akira Fudo,” punctuating the most beautiful sentence that Ryo’s ever heard with a gentle smile. 

“Ryo Asuka.” 

“I know,” Crybaby --  _ Akira --  _ says, then trips over his tongue immediately. “Well -- not your last name -- just what was on your name tag!” 

“So your plan?” Ryo smiles, and Akira smiles back in hopeful relief. He swings his legs as he begins to talk and gesticulate, and it would be almost childlike if his legs weren’t so long. Up close, Ryo notices a thin black line tattooed on Akira’s ring finger. 

Interesting. 

“Okay, so, I want to put a flower at everyone’s station,” Akira explains. “One that fits them! But I hadn’t thought of arrangements. Miki might really like those.”

“Miki?” 

“Uh, brown hair, green eyes, red hat.” Akira gestures around his face to recreate the cut of Miki’s bangs. 

“Uh huh,” Ryo says. “So you want to spruce up the place.”

“Yeah!” Akira nods enthusiastically. “Maybe you can meet everyone and get a feel for like, personal arrangements? Is that a thing?”

“You can just tell me about them,” Ryo says. He doesn’t need to meet them. From what he’s seen, Akira is the only interesting one. And now there’s Miki, the girl who had put her hand on his shoulder, and Ryo decidedly doesn’t want to know about her. 

He has a feeling he will, though. 

“I want your help!” Akira says. “But you’re right.” 

“So who are we starting with?” Ryo says.

“Miki,” Akira says. There it is, that smile. “Something green and, um, yellow. And red, maybe.” 

Green, yellow, red: all warm, earthy. He’s starting to get an idea. 

“Wait here,” Ryo says. He stands, brushes his hands against his pants, and sets off to collect his materials: red, pink, and yellow gladiolas to wave in the air, clusters of green stonecrops to ground and balance, and white sunstars to peek out brightly. He places them in a tender red-brown pot, and shoves it at Akira, who’s watching with his mouth half-open.

“Well?” Ryo says. “Is it Miki enough?” 

“That was so fast!” Akira exclaims. “It’s totally Miki. How much for it?”

“It’s a gift.” Ryo’s words run away from him. “Just this once, though.”

“Thank you,” Akira says, sincere and soft-spoken and blush-pink. He cradles the pot in both his hands, beaming down on it like it’s precious, and then he goes with a dip of his head.

He goes, and Ryo exhales. Akira puts some sort of weight on him, causes him to put up some kind of  _ front. _

And why? What is he trying to do? Being shallowly kind and giving gifts -- what will it lead to?

He doesn’t know -- but he does hope Akira will come back. More arrangements, more small talk, and maybe he’ll figure it out along the way.

But for now, it’s time to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> yell with me @kokirane on tumblr!!


End file.
